


Breaking Point

by BigG



Series: A Dance of Wolves, Lions, Stags and a lone Dragon [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Catelyn Is A Bitch, If you ask me her character is still the same, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Catelyn row, Jon is bitter, Original Location(s), R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-05-14 05:24:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5731000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigG/pseuds/BigG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Game of Thrones, Eddard shares a secret to Jon and the family, Catelyn spitefully reveals it and Jon decides to Take the Black. Catelyn, Robb, Ayra, Eddard and Jon ... All will reach their Breaking Point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catelyn

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously for this story one or to things may have to be tweaked.
> 
> Also, inspired by the season 6 finale of Downton Abbey. {Yes, I love how Edith had just had it with Mary and tells her how it is}.

Catelyn practically strode towards the hall where her family dined for their morning and evening meals, a head empty of thought. She was angry at herself, she overslept. So much so that the sun was over Winterfell and birds were singing. She had hastily dressed in her finer attire and quickly made her way to the hall, not wanting to miss much more. She pushed one of two timber monoliths ajar to enter and caught sight of her dear Robb and his auburn curls of the back of his head. He sat facing the banner of Direwolf and the cobblestone wall behind it. She saw Brandeth Harkner facing forward sipping from his goblet. He was so striking to her due to his hair. Not his looks, simply his shade of hair. Black as a raven. His beard which trailed down his upper chest, tied half-way in the middle was a mixed shade of light black and grey from aging.

Anger began to poison her thoughts when she recognized they boy who sat before Lord Brandeth. His cusps of night and his bodily figure she would recognize blind. _How dare he sit at the table with a guest_. She thought to herself as she strode over to tower over Jon’s side. When he realized her presence he glanced up to see the Lady of House Stark glare down at him. He returned his eyes to the plate in front of him and set his cutlery down before consuming the remaining food held within his mouth. “Yes Lady Stark?” Jon inquired keeping his eyes on his food, most likely already knowing her answer as he had heard it so many times before. “Why are you sitting here? We have a guest and you not a Stark. A bastard should not--“

“Mother, Lord Harkner is here for Jon if you recall correctly. King Robert sent him with his response about legitimizing him.” Anger and jealousy then began to flare on her features. _How dare this man simple walk into our house, dine happily with a supposed bastard and be so willing to legitimize him_! It was true to her, how could a man in all Seven Hells want to dine with a Northern lord’s supposed bastard. Eddard may have told her and Jon the verity of his parentage but they had to keep up the act of his illegitimacy. A matter she had no qualms over. He may not have been her husbands illegitimate son but he possessed a claim on the throne now by law, as well as Winterfell, surpassing that of Robb - the Heir. A Targaryen possessed a strong one. Such only made things worse for her. She recalled the previous weeks in the aftermath of her spouses confession. Things had only gotten worse between her and Jon. Not only was it simply glares and refusal to speak, she even found herself lashing out at him and passing unsavory remarks to his face. And yet he was able to sit and take it like the man she knew he was. Her fears were coming true, Jon was looking to take her sons inheritance for himself. _How dare Brandeth come into our home with this_. She had never even heard of House Harkner of the Stormlands until the Lord of the Triplet Towers arrived in Winterfell with word of the King’s reply on Lord Eddard’s plead, which was to turn Jon Snow to Jon Stark, burying the rumors of his Targaryen blood and that was one thing she did not want.

It was then they were interrupted by the creaking of one of the two doors to the hall. The trio turned and the Lord lifted his head to face behind the table as Maester Luwin entered, moving swiftly across the hall towards the table where Stark's, Harkner and secret Targaryen resided with paper in hand, small and light with water blue wax. “Lady Stark.” He called out as he slowed to a standstill at the beginning of the steps. “A rider, from your brother.” She took the letter in hand to see the seal of her house of birth and childhood, confirming its origin of Riverrun. Lady Catelyn undid the folding having torn the seal that bound the message closed to read the iron letters that could only be Edmure’s writing. Her jaw drew down, her expression grew solemn and breath grew heavy as she took in the message that her father was now ill once again, worse than ever. Her hands dropped to her hips as she stared up at the tapestry behind the table before her in bewilderment.

“Anyway, if that is all then I have got some good news.” The Lord of the Triplet Towers announced. “It’s not the right moment.” Jon spoke hastily as he locked eyes with Brandeth. The Lady of House Stark awoke from her trance to glare down at the black raven feathers of the walking, talking reminder her that her husband, the great, untainted, honorable Lord Eddard Stark lied for so many years of bedding another woman. She journeyed around the table passing her eldest to sit alongside Lord Brandeth.

“Maester Luwin, can you tell the kitchen to send us more wine please, red.” She then took her place in the chair, dragging it forward, its legs drawing and scratching at straw and stone. “Why is it not the right moment?” She asked half sarcastically as she re-folded her letter before placing it aside to her goblet. “Well, you have obviously received unpleasant news of sorts.” The supposed bastard of Winterfell replied giving the only Lady at the table a look somewhat of pity.

“No, it was just everyday news from my brother.” The doors to the hall fixed in place as Maester Luwin left for the kitchen to find a servant and Dornish red. “That is not what it looked like.” The Lady of Winterfell lifted the jug with the remainder of wine stained red to pour it to her goblet. “Well that's how it is.” She retorted as she pulled her shoulders to her ears, pulling her head from her left to right wide eyed as the resentment bubbled through the seams of her lips to the words she spoke.

“It does not matter,” Robb spoke out of the blue as he looked to his 'half-brother', Brandeth and then his mother, “My Lord, if your news is good then we are happy for you Jon... aren’t we mother?” He said glancing to his Mother. Catelyn took a sip from her wine whilst simply cocking her left brow as she returned her drink to the table. “See, I told you. The one thing Lady Stark cannot bare is when things are going better for me than for her.” His eyes focused in on Lady Stark’s features which gazed to the table, to her eldest and then behind him as she could not bare to look at the boy who had come to cast her family down and take all they hold dear. The Heir to Winterfell as his gaze focused between the Lord and Targaryen soon to be Stark by law. “I am sure that is not true.” Brandeth said as he glanced to Jon with a half smile flickering on like a candle in the night.

Jon slightly shacked his locks as he glared and spoke, “You do not know her. I will become a Stark, completely without your approval and you just cannot stand it.” A smirk of slight bore on his lips as he finished. It was then Catelyn turned to Jon, her emeralds of House Tully piercing daggers as this was her breaking point. She could not sit by and watch this boy steal everything under her roof. Robb realizing the gravity of the situation moved to save his supposed half-brother from his mother’s wrath. “Really Jon there is no need--“

“No, you’re wrong, I'm very happy for you.” She retorted sarcastically to Jon’s first slight of smug he had ever given her. “And I admire you my Lord, not everyone would accept Jon’s heritage.” Both Robb and Jon turned to Catelyn as their faces melted into fear of what was to come. Jon’s breath grew shaky and quick, still looking at Cat. “Mother don’t.” Robb pleaded.

“What do you mean?” asked the Lord.

“Well surely you must have told him, you couldn’t accept such an offer without telling him.” Catelyn told Jon with a hint of sadism on her tongue. “Tell me what?” Brandeth queried as he cocked his head towards the Lady of Winterfell, the smile slowly dissolving from his features to be replaced by question and concern. “About Jon, who he truly is.” She commented as she glanced towards the Lord of the Triplet Towers and then set eyes on Jon. Brandeth then faced Jon as did Catelyn's face, plastered with sadism. Jon glanced down at the edge of the table before lifting his eyes to those of the Lord. His mouth was slit open and his breath came quick and shaky. “Rhaegar Targaryen is my father.”

The Lady bobbed her head to the left of her when her eyes met the features of her eldest. His Tully eyes rolled back as he slid his eyelids shut, dropping his head to his lap. Lord Harkner tilted his head forward and huffed through his nose. It was then he slouched his chair out and patted his figure off. “Will you excuse me.” He finished with a sigh. The outed Targaryen's jaw fell further as he tilted forward with the saddest of expressions as Brandeth walked slowly around Catelyn. Her features had now turned from sadism to Jon’s typical solemn. Her eyes were not visible to the remaining table guests as they remained on her thighs. The only sound that cut the silence was that one of two doors to the hall opening and then resuming its position in its frame. After that the only sound that broke the air was Jon’s ragged breaths as Lady Catelyn lifted a honey fig to deed on while her eldest glared daggers at his mother before returning a worry and sorrow to his cousin.


	2. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I kept people waiting, school has been distracting for the most part.

The incumbent Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North sat at the study of his Solar contemplating which Lord to write to next. He had such a mass of letters he had already wrote and nearing completion of today’s round of politics, even the mere thought of the task made him tire although it had to be done. His mind was re-awakened from its complaints as he finished his current message and set his quill aside. He then folded the parchment three, lifted the pot of wax that simmered over a single flame and let it flow over the center. The silver grey forming a perfect liquid circle when then became imprinted with the Direwolf's head, the heraldry of House Stark.

He passed the sealed to one side and centered a fresh sheet of parchment in front of him. The room was silent, with the exemptions’ of the faint screeching of iron from the courtyard, the whispers of men alongside the distant iron and the squeaking of his tunic’s leather.

He was stopped by the opening of the door behind him just before he signed his name. The Lord set his quill in the well before turning to see the Page of Winterfell standing aside its frame. “You called for me m’lord.”

“Yes Harrin, I was not expecting you so soon.” He said as he returned to face his study and lay sight on the ample scrolls to his side. “Would you like me to come back later m’lord?”

“No.” Eddard paused with a sigh. ”I am not done yet but you can take these down to the notary, the ones I have completed.” He said as he bundled as many scrolls as possible to hand them to the Page Boy and then repeating the action twice over before it were complete. “I have just three more to write before I’m finished so you should know when I will be done and to return.”

“Yes m’lord.” The boy finished before waddling off. Eddard noticed the difference of weight in his bag now with its many papers it contained. “Excuse me.” He said as he passed a figure behind the door which the Lord of Winterfell turned once more to see. It was the Maester of the House who halted when he reached the halfway to his Lord with whom he was sworn to serve.

“My Lord.” Maester Luwin called for his attention, “Yes Luwin, what is it?” He asked. “Lord Harkner wanted me to inform you that he will be riding for King’s Landing before nightfall so he wishes to have his horse--“

“What, Lord Harkner is leaving, why what... happened, where is Jon?” Before the Maester could even begin his answer to Lord Eddard’s queries. “Do not worry Maester Luwin, I will sort it out.”

“Of course my Lord.” Luwin replied slightly giving a nod of recognition before turning around. As he had his hand on the door. “Luwin.” Eddard called out and the elderly turned raising his eyebrows waiting for question. “Why is he leaving so abruptly?”He queried as a thought of the recent revelation to his family in the strictest of their confidence that Jon Snow was actually Jon Targaryen, and how the knowledge had not allowed for a cooling of tensions between Jon and Cat as he had hoped since Jon was indeed not his bastard child, but instead led to a heightening of hostility from his spouse. Eddard always knew she had feared Jon was out to take Robb’s inheritance for himself, but he knew his supposed son, the Wolf crossed with Dragon would never attempt such a move regardless of his blood. As far as he knew.

“Not sure my Lord. Although not all seemed well at breakfast between Lady Stark and your son.”

Lord Eddard took a deep sigh. “Thank-you, Maester Luwin. You can go now.” The elderly Maester gave a nod and closed the door and closed the door behind him. The Lord’s nerves began to simmer within him as he feared something may have happened.

-000-

“If he doesn’t leave now it will be dark before they even pass Wintertown.” Robb repeated. “It doesn’t matter; he can stay in an inn, what happened?” Eddard blurted at his eldest as Lord Brandeth strolled back and forth carrying his luggage to his cart and horse.

Robb sighed. “Mother thought Jon had told him about his Targaryen heritage.”

“Of course he didn't! If Robert finds out, which he may very well do now, no corner of world will be safe for him.” Eddard turned to Robb. “And what made her think such a thing?”

“Mother is not stupid.”

“No”, he retorted sighing deeply and rolling his Stark grey, “and she is not always kind either. Do you really think I am supposed to believe it was a mistake?” He spar at his son. “What difference will it make now.” Robb retorted.

The pair of blood bound were drew forward as the sound of man heaving on his horse caught their hearing. He steadied himself on his horse before turning to wish the pair well. Brandeth then motioned his horse around, galloping out the iron gates. Ned sighed and glared to his feet. _How in all the Heavens and Hells of the Gods I’m I supposed to uphold my promise now_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback is appreciated, the good, the back, and the ugly.


	3. Jon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than the previous chapters, but never the less enjoy.

The still by law Bastard of Winterfell took step after step down the corridor of cobblestone to his fathers, or in the present situation case, his uncles Solar. He had made his decision, his final decision. He will journey to the wall with Benjen Stark and Take the Black of the Nights Watch. The venom of what Lady Stark had caused this morning still coursed through his thoughts. _Why would she do such a thing?_ He thought to himself. _I am not her husband’s bastard, he was faithful all this time and yet she still causes me misery. Why?_ It really angered him that she had went thus far to hurt him. Really angered him. It did not matter now anyway, Jon was leaving for the Wall now. She would finally get what she had always wanted.

Now awakening from his thoughts, Jon stood before the door of Eddard Stark’s Solar. He stood there in silence contemplating all he had already just thought of. Ned had always spoke of great honor serving in the Nights Watch and that the Stark’s had manned the Wall for thousands of years. Jon knew he could have a life there. It was a place where he could leave this all behind, Lady Stark, his Uncle, his false parentage and his siblings. Yet a speck of thought kept awakening in the dark side of his mind that leaving Winterfell and his siblings for something such as the Nights Watch was a bad idea and he would regret it sincerely. When the thought of his siblings came, the urge came to him to shed tears, but he fought them back with sniffles. He did not want to leave any of them, they loved him and he loved them, but he did not belong in Winterfell.

Gathering his energy, he knocked on the door threefold. “Come in.” Lord Eddard called. Jon pushed the wood aside to enter. His uncle was standing by the window of a thousand diamond cuts. He turned to see who was there. “Son... I mean nephew.” the outed Targaryen cringed at the word. He still was not used to it, after a life of being called ‘son’, “What is it?”

Jon paused in that moment, attempting to conceive the words to use in his announcement of deciding to Take the Black. He figured there was not much point in beating around the bush. “When Benjen gets here,” he did not even know what to even call Benjen now, “I’d like to ride with him to the Wall and Take the Black.”

He pulled his hands behind his back as he waited for a response. the Lord of Winterfell's mouth opened slightly as he joined as he joined his fingers and lowered them to his waist. “Are you sure Jon. Don’t--“

“Yes father... Uncle!” He corrected himself shaking his black locks. “Yes uncle I am sure. I have thought through it this time and I wish to leave for Castle Black. My decision rests on indestructible foundation.”

“Well you know I will not stop you, it’s a great honor and all that but do you really want to give up your life here?” He dragged on already knowing why he was going. “I have no life here. Castle Black is where I can build a life for myself.” He asserted. Jon did not want to spend much longer that was necessary on the great matter which was already settled.

“Very well nephew. If this is what you truly want.”

Jon swallowed deeply before he looked up to meet the gaze of his Uncles Stark grey. “It is.” He then dropped his nightly orbs to the straw of the floor before turning and retreating from the Solar pulling the wood shut. He pulled himself down the corridor for his bed chambers. He wished to rest to sleep off some of the shame and then begin packing of his belongings. He fought the burning desire to shed a tear over today’s events but forced self-control. He did not think he would be attending dinner. Jon could not face the Lady of Winterfell after the fast one she pulled on him.

He entered his chambers and pushed the door sealed behind him, resting his forehead on the planks. His ears caught the whimpers if Ghost behind him near the hearth. “Don’t start.” Was all he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated. :)


	4. Catelyn II

The Lady of Winterfell sat at her bed chambers window with her elbow resting on the edge of the table to her left, with her left index knuckle resting in the groove of her lips. She contemplated all that had happened over the day, her move for the jugular, Lord Harkner’s departure. Lady Stark knew and upheld the fact she had no obligation to love Jon and many would defend it. However, her move at breakfast may have been a step out of line. Catelyn knew all too well what had happened to Rhaegar Targaryen’s and Ellia Martell’s baby dragons the day King’s Landing fell. Butchered in their sleep. It did not matter. He was still a bastard by law and he had to be kept in his place. However, the way she was putting him there was enough for question. Praying for him to die and then Jon catching the pox, that was horridly cruel, even for herself... far over the boundary.

But this, _this is something different_.

She was snatched from thought when the clicking of heals and the thumping of feet were heard. Catelyn re-composed herself in the chair, resting her arms on both its said arms, straightening her back then raising her head. Robb entered the doorway which had been left ajar. His auburn curls not unlike that of the suns glare and slender fingers which were now stretching over the skyline not far above the Godswood with candles already alight. He was hunched forward over himself with his hands hanging low by his sides. He looked to his Mother, his features solemn, serious, and unreadable, not unlike her own. “Well you got what you wanted. Lord Harkner has left for King’s Landing, Jon will not be a Stark and he’s made his final decision to go to the Wall for sure this time."

Lady Catelyn then stretched her neck as straight like a trunk while lowering her eyes, yet keeping her features high before returning them, at least in part to her eldest. ”Well that is not what I wanted.”

“Is it not?” Robb bluntly stated as he moved towards Cat. She knew not very deep down she did want Jon out and never a Stark but she could not admit that now. Not in circumstances such as these. “I still cannot believe he never told him. How was I supposed to know that?”

Do not play the innocent with me.”

“I did not mean--“

“No!” He paused as he halted before his Mother to tower over her with an expression she could not describe, lifting his finger to her. “You knew Jon would say nothing, you knew it was a death sentence for him and you did it anyway... You can't stop ruining things. For Jon for yourself. You’d drag down the God’s if you could, anything to make you feel any less jealous and paranoid.” Lady Stark’s jaw dropped at the comment. This was not her son; this was something new and unknown. Robb loved his half-brother, or cousin in this matter and would fight to the death for him. He clearly was intent on doing just that.

“You saw Jon when Lord Harkner was here, all high handed and bullying and unapologetic. Am I expected to lower myself to his level, and be grateful that I am allowed to do so?” She stated forcefully and finished out of breath and panting slightly, shocked at Robb for his ferocity and current nature. He simply closed his mouth, slightly shaking his head in disgust at his Mother for what she had done and was saying. “Listen to yourself, lower yourself, who the hell do you think you are!”

“How dare you!” She spat aloud with features of shock. “You ruined Jon’s life today, how many lives are you going to wreak, just to smother your own jealousy!”

His mother glared up at her son before shoving herself from her chair to stand with her back straight and her eyes on the Heir knowing there was nothing she could do to stop his rampage. “I refuse to listen.”

“You are a coward Mother”, She stared him dead in the eyes of Tully and Stark after his remark, “Like all bullies you are a coward.” Robb finished shaking his head smoothly before storming in silence with his footsteps echoing behind him. He left Catelyn to stand in shock and aw, staring into nothing at the open doorway in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome. the good, the bad and the horrific.


	5. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if there was a bit of a wait.
> 
> Also, there isn't much dialogue in this chapter.

The Heir to Winterfell lifted his fork from his plate to consume the beef he was _enjoying_ for tonight’s meal, along with a range of vegetables with the occasional fruit, and wooden goblet of thick red that was of the far South. He and his family all sat in an uncomfortable silence. Seven of eight members of the family encircled the table while the eighth was, at least to the younger siblings as far as he knew, mysteriously absent. Not that it was in anyway mysterious to the eldest and his parents as they knew Jon had retreated to his chambers the previous afternoon, after Catelyn’s little charade and has not shown his features since, and darkness had long since descended upon the North. Robb was disgusted with his Mother. ‘How could she sink so low?’ he repeated over in his thoughts as he occasionally glared towards her, sitting at the top right side of the table with her husband at the left and Sansa at the opposing end of the table. Bran, Arya and Rickon in said order to the left of the eldest who glanced up at them to see all were eating different portions of their dinner at different paces. Sansa sipping her water with Mother doing the same to her wine and Father eating beef.

“Where is Jon?” Asked Bran as he placed his cutlery to their places at the side of the plate. “Yea where is he? I have not seen him all afternoon.” Continued Arya. The Heir looked up from his plate and towards the two before swallowing a shred of lettuce currently in his throat. He then caught his sweet sister glace up before turning towards her parents then continuing to eat.

After his Father admitted who Jon’s true mother and father was, Sansa’s attitude started to improve. It made him happy that she was finally starting to take to him yet angered him all the same, how she behaved. She was never cruel to his sibling, but neither fully accepting, simply cool. He did not how, but why. All Sansa really had respect for was a title and always mirrored their Mothers behavior. Thus, she, like Catelyn was resentful of the supposed bastard to say the least. Now she knew he was a true Stark in reality, her attitude was more welcoming. Yet annoyance simmered in his heart more or less.

“He is in his chambers. He decided to retire for the night rather early as he said he was feeling under the weather.” Eddard lied. Catelyn continued to eat, pausing momentarily for a sip of wine before continuing. “He did not seem unwell. He looked rather happy ever since the man from King’s Landing came to make him a Stark.” Arya replied. She seemed curious, suspicious and unconvinced of the fabrication their Father fed her. It was not that hard to think so, with the outed Targaryen being so gleeful at the thought of being legitimized as a Stark, the one thing he ever wanted his entire life. She loved her cousin dearly as her own. “Yes how could he be sick all of a su--“

“Maybe it’s the Lords leaving that's made him sick.”

Lord Stark jolted his head at Robb’s burst of interruption at Bran, said person as well as the two other young-lings did the same. The table fell silent and Sansa lifted her eyes with slight shock as with her Mother slower. Robb then glanced up and then back to his food to eat. His family did the same slower, his Father the slowest. The Heir sneaking a glance of his Wolf blooded sister. She stared at the center of the table. She was deep in thought over her elders blunt. A jolt of nerve coursed through his blood when Arya turned to Robb and locked her mud brown with his Tully blue. The two stared at each other for what felt like eons. Her eyes to Robb filled with knowledge. She knew, or at least she had a hint that things had come to a head between her Dragon blooded cousin and her Mother... or something else. Her eyes then returned to the plate below her.

“What is he ill with Father?” Bran continued. Robb lifted his head again at the question as did Arya. “I’m not sure. Maester Luwin said it was just a bad head cold and should be gone by the morning.” Eddard then set his fork aside before imitating his spouse and eldest daughter. “Really?” Arya replied. She looked towards her Mother who was in the process of cutting beef. Catelyn lifted it and placed the meat in her mouth with her fork only to catch eyes with her youngest daughter. She gave a silent stare. Her mother did the same before her daughter started dinner again.

Catelyn’s eyes remained on her daughter before slighting down at the table, then lower to her food. Robb had guessed she wondered what the eyes her Wolf blooded daughter gave her meant. A look of knowing what Cat had done and telling her in silence. Catelyn the breathed in deeply and exhaled through a silenced huff.

The rest of their meals past reasonably uneventfully. Excluding the occasional remark over Jon and the events of today. While people may have hinted towards Catelyn that they knew of why Jon was _ill_ , none ever said aloud. It was a secret to be kept to prevent the spread of anger to others. This was true, even to an anger filled Stark such as the eldest and Heir to his Fathers titles. _When something bad such as this happens, there is no point in wishing it had not happened. The only option is to minimize the damage_ he thought. Although this premise had not followed as Arya most likely already knew of the extent of what has happened.

Robb was the first to excuse himself from the room. Both having finished his meal and not wanting to sit through continuous awkward silence he more or less was responsible for. He made his way upstairs towards his own chamber, wanting to retire for what was left of the night. Before so, he turned in the corridor at the top of the stairs to peak at his cousins bed chambers door. He first caught the sight of the tray of food sitting at the side of the frame untouched. His heart sank. He had been the one to send it to his cousin’s chambers in hopes that he would take it but clearly it was a falsity. Robb then ghosted the shell of his ear over the oak after having made his way from the corner of the corridor to hear nothing but silence with small rasps from both the supposed bastard and his Direwolf. He was most likely submerged within slumber. Robb then coursed his way to his own chamber with anger growing over the sorrow.

The next morning, he awoke slowly and changed to an everyday attire. He navigated Winterfell to join whoever remained at the table for breakfast. When he entered the hall, it was only Lord Stark, his Father, and Lady Catelyn, his Mother. He sat with them and asked. “Where are Bran, Arya, Rickon and Sansa?” He straightened himself, pouring water instead of wine. “They have had their breakfast and have commenced with their day to day activities.” His Father replied. “And Jon?” Robb questioned glancing to Cat before sipping the liquid. “He has not risen yet.” Eddard replied slowly and resentfully before sipping his own goblet. “Really”, he Robb paused as he set his own drink to the table. “Well that is hardly to be wondered at, considering the fact at how close he came to getting the only thing he ever wanted in his life one moment. Only to have it turn to ashes the next.” Robb spat smoother than the sands of the far east. He locked his Tully blue. Catelyn was now clutching her cutlery with her own marble green focused on the metal and timber below her, breathing quietly.

The Heir to Winterfell finished breakfast hastily before leaving his parents in such an abrupt manner. He glided up the flights of stairs to his cousin’s chambers, the tray from last light now gone. He entered to a room of an atmosphere. Not far from the door were his travel cases. Some already sealed while others were open and empty. He turned left to lay eyes on Jon who was still lying in his bed with his back to the door, facing the alternate end of the room with Ghost curled around his feet, both emitting hushed exhales. Robb had asked him if there was anything he could get him to which Jon replied, “A different life.”

Robb’s heart sank and was now aching for his cousin. He sighed shaking breath, asking if he could bring Jon something in bed. His cousin refused, sitting up before continuing. “I am a bastard, bastards don’t have any say, and they get up for breakfast.” He rose from his bed before the true born by law stopped him affirming he was true in every sense. Jon replied, “Except the law.” He then moved to change for the day. Robb, accepting defeat left Jon on his own. He made his way to the courtyard to begin his daily training. All the while telling himself to forget and carry the day on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated.


	6. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this chapter is a bit melodramatic. :}

Arya was agile through the corridors of Winterfell with Nymeria galloping briskly behind her. Her Septa had lost sight of her and she took every Coppers worth of her chance. Her Mother wanted her clothes prepared for the Royal arrival at Winterfell. The little Wolf had no such penchant for the likes of dresses and a Lady’s proper was of life. Given her fervor for sword play, she would be a Knight given an opportunity as such. She could apprehend the bleached calls of her Septa in the far distance, though not enough to risk capture.

She could hear the faded notes of clashing iron from the other side of the cobblestone. Training from the Master at Arms is in full swing. As she came to an intersection in the halls, the echo’s told her a window was to her left. When she turned in said direction she stopped in her tracks, seeing a shadow loom over the window on its ledge. Arya was surprised to see her cousin watching whoever was brawling in the courtyard. Typically it was him to take up the challenge. For the past few days, Jon had been eluding pretty much everyone, aside from the occasional _hello_ when he passed someone, and scarcely ate with the family anymore. Only to retire before it was even close to pure night. So to see him outside of his chamber at all was a welcome sight.

She then approached her kinsman. “Hey.” She said as she motioned to join him on the ledge. “May I?”

“Sure.” The boy crossed with Wolf and Dragon said softly as he pulled his knees to his chest. Arya then climbed to sit mirror to him as they both relaxed their clench on their legs. She gazed down at the courtyard to watch Robb and Theon sparring with dulled swords. The little Wolf was disappointed that Jon was not down fighting with Robb. Not that she did not love her half-brother now turned secret cousin. She truly did, possibly more than her other siblings though she would never admit it until the Hell's froze over. He never tried to keep her in a traditional feminine role such as her parents, Sansa’s and possibly Robb’s desire. It was something she would never forget. She partially wished he was the one down there as she loved to watch the supposed Base-born and the Heir fight for victory in practice. As she gazed down at the training she noticed its proximity to the entrance to the Godswood. “Two boy’s hacking at each other in front of a Godswood, says something about the Gods doesn’t it.”

Jon chuckled at her remark as it was either she or his brother that could break through Jon’s icy exterior. “How come you are not down sparring with Robb?” Arya queried watching her cousin’s features from the edge of her eyes. “I did not really feel up to it.” He put bluntly keeping his eyes between the diamond cuts of glass, his expression returning to his typical solemn expression, only today it was more pronounced. “Are you alright?” She asked lifting a hand to rest on his kneecap, slouching her head to her right. The outed Targayren huffed conspicuously. “I’m fine.” He jolted his head toward Arya and their mud brown eyes met. “What do you mean am I alright?” He questioned with a look on his face. Arya hunched her head forward keeping their eyes locked with giving him an astute look. “Oh.” He said, turning his eyes back to the glass of her left and his right. “No, I am fine.” Jon repeated.

Arya stared at her cousin for a moment more before asking. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon shook his head, his black cusps vibrating and twitching slightly. “Not really.” He inhaled deeply as well as exhaled, the light out beyond the glass catching his eyes in a sparkle. “I understand.” She said as she turned her features to the window, and then turned to face Jon again. “So what happened?” Arya relented in a slight of dry wit. Jon’s head fell back tilting his features up. His mouth dropped open as he encompassed his bottom pearly whites with his lower lip before releasing them.

“Your Mother came to the table at breakfast late so I thought it would be alright for me to risk sitting with Lord Harkner.” He paused releasing a shaky breath. “Then she was domineering over me, scolding me over why I should not be there. Robb managed to quieten her for a time.” He said looking down at his knees before looking up at his cousin, his eyes glossy. “Lord Harkner wanted to announce that King Robert had said yes but I didn't let him as she was already upset. Then when Robb tried to say he was happy for me and Lady Stark just sat there.” He took a deep breath closing his eyes before releasing. “Anyway I took the little modicum of an opportunity she gave me to mock her slightly over the fact that I was going to become a Stark against her wishes... anyway it was my own fault, I pushed her to her breaking point.”

Arya sighed rubbing her palm on Jon’s shoulder, nape and back, though she did not argue. Unheeding to her own concluding she had to agree with him. He did rather leave himself open for assault. _When one has a secret as draconian as Jon’s, one can never be too careful_ she thought to herself. Even so, she did not want him leaving for Castle Black. “Are you really going to join the Nights Watch?” She asked. Robb had told her in the days previous after himself discovering so by courtesy of their Father. Robb had seemed horrifically heartbroken at the news. She could not blame him, but for a boy of his maturity, his emotions seemed aberrant. Jon faced Arya again tilting his head to his right to lean on the glass aside him. He said. “Yes. The Wall is the only place that the likes of myself can have true honor. Where I can have life and rise through the ranks.” He finished as his head slid forward on the window to lock his mud brown with his knees.

Arya then raised her hand to land it on her cousin’s shoulder. “What about me. The life you have with the rest of your family?” She questioned earnestly. This time Jon elevated his features up and kept then high as he patted her knuckles. “You know I love all of you dearly and would die for you, Robb, Bran or Rickon. But the Nights Watch is the only place a bastard can redeem himself--“

“You’re not a bastard!” She bellowed at him. “I still am in the eyes of the King’s law.” He persisted. Arya then caught sight of the fact that this was an argument in which she would not arise victorious. She simply sighed pulling her hand back to the void between her thighs and chest. “I don’t suppose there is anything I can do to sway you then?”

“No. I am sorry.” He replied solemnly and bitterly. It sounded to Arya that he cringed at the thought of going to the Wall. The pup of a Wolf sighed once more.

She could not hear the whales of her Septa anymore, suggesting she had reversed directions. The young Wolf was heartbroken at the thought of her cousin’s departure but could understand his yearning for it so. Yet even in the mist of what has happened, Arya could not bring herself to feel disgust at her Mother. Catelyn Stark was her Mother and the Wolf blooded young Stark would love her until her final breath. But a flame of anger at her did burn deep below at what she had done. If Arya did come to hate her Mother, she knew it would not last for eternity. She would forgive her sooner rather than later as she always did.

For the moment Arya decided the best course of action was to sit in the harmonious silence and savor the final moments she had with him. She would miss the way Jon ruffled her hair, how he would tweak at her ear playfully, and how he always treated her as an equal to him, encouraging her to practice swordsmanship and never denying her the chance to do so simply because she was a girl. Arya glanced at her Dragon blooded cousin once more, seeing him focus on the courtyard below despite Theon yielding to Robb as he always did, and the two departing. She gave Jon a soft and warm half smile as droplets of rain began to patter the glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated.


	7. Eddard II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking awhile but I just couldn't bring myself to finish it.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter may be incredibly short but it lays the foundation for the next chapter.

They remained seated after super. Children departed for bed. The tiny feast held for Uncle Benjen and other Nights Watchmen, one or two of which remained. Laughter and cheering having faded to silent whispers as candles died and the castle was enveloped with darkness.

When the light reappears, his nephew rides for the Castle of Black with his uncle. Eddard knew it was for the best that he should go. _It’s for the best_ he repeated in his thoughts. _Life may be cragged there, but a living could be made for a supposed bastard even if it were a frozen waste and a dumping ground for such people_. The Lord of Winterfell sipped from his goblet, setting it down before fisting knuckles on the edge of timber. “Before he leaves in the morning, I want you to make peace with Jon.”

Catelyn’s untully green lifted from the opposing end of the hall to her spouse’s side ward features. His eyes then cornering to meet her before turning his head in her bearing. They both knew amends may have passed but it seemed the least that could be brought to pass. “I don’t think I should.”

“I don’t care.” His spouse cocked in his direction. His features coursing with anger and even disgust. “Do you have any idea what this could mean for him. The entirety of keeping this a secret was because his Mother knew if Robert found out, which he will now thanks to you. No place in the Seven Kingdoms, nor Westeros or Essos will harbor safety. I told you. I told our children in the strictest of confidence and with complete trust. And you destroyed that trust.”

Ned’s face grazed upon the table afresh. He pried into the hall to see if any gave glares as he erected his goblet to sip his dark ale. Fortunately nil paid diligence. The last affair House Stark required was gossip of Jon Snow being Jon Targaryen in verity. “Even so I do not think --“

“I don’t care what you think!” He growled. Loud enough to cause a head of the black to draw itself in on their exchange. The Lady of the Wolves flinched at the ascertain of her spouses thoughts. “What you did was cruel, dishonorable and cowardly.” The Warden of the North glanced to his wife. “You will apologize.”

The duo of Fish and Wolf fell into silence that could be sliced with steel for a time longer. Catelyn not daring to open her mouth in fear of pushing her husband any further beyond his breaking point. Even though Lord Eddard condemned these moments, sometimes they were inevitable. “I’m going to bed. I will see you soon.” Lady Stark announced as she scrapped her chair across stone and straw to cross the hall and disappear from sight without even bothering create a public disguise. Eddard would join her soon. But for now he would require more ale than he could muster from the tables remains in order to sooth the boiling rage he felt at Catelyn. Unbeknownst to the Warden that a Black Brother had es-dropped in on their whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated.


	8. Catelyn III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the chapter that inspired the entire story of Breaking Point.

She worked up the spiral staircase, now reaching the point of midway. As she did, her thoughts now went from being empty to crowded and noisy. All that had become in days previous passed like a northern day’s sunlight. From when her spouse shocked the family by revealing the verity of Jon’s heritage. She recalled Ned’s stutters as he searched the waters for the right words. How she and Jon were spellbound for opposing reasons and how all her children’s glee at the realization that their bastard sibling was in fact a true born.

But then the events of now came to speak. Of how Eddard tried to bury Jon Targaryen’s parentage with legitimized Jon Stark. Of how he did such a thing completely without Catelyn’s approval. Her blood simmered at the thought. Of how she could not stand that Jon was a true born with a claim to the throne and then would become a Stark of Winterfell. Of the _deterioration_ of the family. And then to today.

Jon Targaryen will depart with the Nights Watch legion for Castle Black. Not that she cared much for his departure; she desired his exodus, especially with the King arriving within a day. It was always Lady Stark to give the supposed bastard the most conge in Winterfell. However, her fashion of causing such an exit was more than questionable.

Her apprehending disappeared and then rejoined her as she neared the top of the flight. Her husband’s ultimatum to apologize. Catelyn did not want to do it, nor would she do it she told herself. She had nothing to apologize for. Yet as she neared the floor of bed chambers, more nagging thoughts came to mind. Robb’s lashing out. Guilt. Yes guilt. The thought in the back of her mind was growing each day. That she had somewhat overstepped the mark with regards to Jon, and that everyone who panned what she had brought about had a point of argument. As she reached the top and stepped onto the flooring, the thought grew exponentially, dominating her thoughts. It caused Catelyn to stop dead in her tracks as she turned to her own bed chamber. The thought now controlled her by some unknown reason. She now thought it made more sense to seek forgiveness to Jon. Not for feeling sorry for him and what she did. Rather to re-win the favor of Eddard and her children. If it fashioned for her.

She then turned on her heels to face the opposing corridor of Winterfell... eerily desolate. Her head elevated. Her emeralds fell upon the floor as she then a moment later or two waltzed gracefully down the hall with her eyes remaining locked down, the tips of her forefingers ghosting her palms. Her forearms swung on each side. She navigated three or four corridors before turning one more to see the frame of supposed Bastards chamber door hallow. Her untully blue lingered before she captured sounds of a large object lunging. Possibly a travel case or chest of clothes. Cat’s eyes wandered but her features remained solemn as she slowed her advance to the door now hearing sniffles and a sob. Her features softened and her thoughts coursed with a revived reluctance, of how she would defy the Lord of Winterfell and never see to Jon. Yet just as hastily as her intuition regained her, the blatant thought of a hallow apology re-appeared. She lost control of her limbs and her head whitened and she entered.

When she passed the oak panel ajar of its frame. She caught sight of the outed Targaryen. He closed the chest parallel to his bed and returned to his feet. He was dressed for riding in his typical attire he always wore on such a convenience. The grey and sandy strands of the animal fur collar mixing with the cusps of nightly locks. He turns to make a way to his bed frontal to the Lady of Winterfell, itself holding an open travel case atop. His eyes remained locked on the stone and wood of the floor as he strode. He held something in his leather clasped hands although Catelyn could not bring herself to care. He continued to sniffle and release ragged, short and clipped breaths as he stood now to the side of the bed and case not noticing his Aunt as he placed whatever he held in his case. Lady Stark then slowly resumed making her way to the foot of the bed. “Going away?” She said in the process.

Jon flinched up. The rimes of his eyes red like saps. His orbs as glossy and black as the pond of the Godswood as tracks of tear carved within his cheeks. “Do you care?” He retorted resuming his packing. Catelyn’s eyes and features grazed the edge of the bed furs momentarily before she made a final waltz to the left end corner of the bed, halfway between the bed and end wall of the chamber. “Look I was not to know you had not told him.” She said. Pausing as she held at her landing-place. “It never occurred to me--“

“Just shut up!”

Her features fell wide eyed and dismayed at the outburst. “I don’t know what’s happened. Robb’s made you feel bad... or Father, or Uncle or whatever the hell he is!” Jon listed his head in contemplation, glaring glistening daggers at her. “Or maybe it’s just the same old Catelyn, who wants her cake and"--

She now knew his anger was baleful, calling her by her first name. “Look I never meant to"--

“Yes you did!” He blurted hysterically. “Who... do you think you are talking to? Sansa? Your maid?” All the Lady of Winterfell could do was stand in shell shock at what she was hearing. “I know you. I know you to be a nasty, jealous, bitter bitch!”

“Now listen you pathetic"--

“You’re a bitch!”

Cat was taken aback. Her eyes were clamped with Jon’s as they flickered her and the straw of the floor, damp and shaky. “Who’s not content with her own decline you are determined to cause my own.”

“I don't suffer decline.”Cat affirmed her head vibrating with fury as was her vocals. “And if Lord Harkner is put off by that then--“

“Do not demine yourself by trying to justify your venom. Just go.” He affirmed as he locked his ebony with his Aunts emeralds who then cocked a brow, lurching her auburn hair to her right as she stood tall at the supposed bastard. Jon then scoffed tilting his black locks astern before bowing over his case to place the after most items within his case to seal it. The Lady of Winterfell watched eagle eyed hotly at him as he lifted his case to thunk his heels as he coursed about his bed, only to stop aside Catelyn as he glanced upon and locked their eyes. His own flooding and an appearance with heartbreak. “And you’re wrong you know, as you so often are.” Lady Stark’s domineer unhurriedly dissolved as he continued with his declaration. “I always envied Robb but I was never out for what he had. You’re just too stupid and stuck up to see the difference.” Her features now were solemn with her lips slit open to apprehend such a confession as the Wolf and Dragon blooded boy before her flicked his own features down before retracing to her, cocking his head. “Still at least we’re getting away from each other, which is something to thank the Gods for I suppose."

Jon then recoup his path out of the chamber as he paced his way to the door with his travel case thumping his thigh. He ceased to exist from sight. The echoes of his journey up hall soon fading. Leaving a shell shocked and ambivalent Catelyn Stark in muteness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback is appreciated, the good the bad and the ugly.


	9. Robb II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this chapter took a while. After having reached the previous chapter I was dying to write, it caused a bit of writers block for what came afterwards.

As the Heir to Winterfell and the Northern Kingdom neared the doors to the courtyard, his thoughts coursed with the bitter venom of days previous. All things that had correlated between his dear cousin and his sweet Mother. It was all those of House Stark ever thought of and spoke of now. Even servants of the castle whispered of an ever new but not so surprising, ripening bitterness between the two it was so obvious.

The cold breath took him and enveloped him as he passed beneath the door frame to the outside world of the courtyard, brimful with life as Black Brothers readied the horses to ride North. Once outdoors, he sought his kinsman to wish farewell. It did not take long to catch the sight across the mud, his supposed half-brothers nightly cusps atop his pelt collar for a riding cloak. Despite his Valyrian heritage, it was beauteous how Northern Jon appeared. More Stark like features present than any of the actual Stark children. A lean build with both strands of hair and grey eyes bordering night.

_As black as Asshai_ he thought.

It was a singularity he loved about his supposed bastard half-brother. He was Northern in all but name. As common people for servants dispersed, he laid eyes on his full riding attire with its pelt collar, mud tattered tail and a travel case thumping his left thigh as he approached the Nights Watch entourage.

When Jon laid his nightly orbs upon Robb, his solemness refused to melt, he did not slow his advance, only turned ajar to the direction he first traveled, instead, anew strode to his cousin. Every time the Heir laid eyes upon the outed Targaryen, the thoughts of him came to pass. They were accompanied by his Mother, what she had done and ruined Jon’s life in a moment. Warmth at the heart was followed by chills of winter and ice. When they met, the true born by law offered his sibling a half-smile. The Snow chewed his lips inwards as he glanced to the mud of Robb’s feet before locking eyes with his cousin. Jon offered out his case to his Trueborn counterpart. “Do you mind leaving this with the other riders? I need to fetch my saddle from the armory.” He queried with a sigh.

“Anything for you Jon.” The Stark replied serious as he grasped his travel case with grace, both dispersing in counter directions as supposed Baseborn distanced to the armory, and the Heir to the Black Brothers of the Nights Watch. As he did so, the thoughts of future passed like candle light. Thoughts of when he and his cousin would see once more. The next time they would, he would be adorned all in black as if he were mourning. Even after he had committed to vows, reunion of sorts were bleak in chances as he reminisced on what few visits Winterfell received of Uncle Benjen. His heart cracked as if it were a Southern glass goblet dropped to the floor. He could not conceive a more painful form of separation and divide from his sibling.

As he lunged the case atop the cart horses trail, his thoughts scoured for ways which he could convince Jon to stay... with his family... in his home... Winterfell. Arya had already admitted defeat, sparking Robb’s desperation to keep the Targaryen at his true home, despite his sister insisting the task was futile. But this was a matter on which Robb did not want to face defeat, yet he knew he may do so.

The Heir to the North sighed spinning on both heels as they sank through the mud. He scurried his way through common servants of the castle before laying Tully blue upon cousin Jon, who carried a fine black leather saddle for riding upon his shoulder, making a path from the armory to Uncle Benjen. His features were as they were the moment they met within the courtyard, with his orbs of Dragonglass red at the rims of flesh. It made Robb ponder as to what had taken place before he left the castle interior. They spoke nothing. The Heir to Winterfell twirled, aligning himself with his kinsman as they strode to his horse in preparation for departure.

“Have you said goodbye to everyone?” He remained as silent as graves, solemnly confirming with a hmm. “I do not suppose there is anything I can say that will make you change your mind?” Robb queried in one final attempt. Jon’s solemness already spoke the truth. The supposed bastard threw his saddle atop the nightly like beast. Jon sighed as he composedly turned to face his cousin, locking Dragonglass with Sapphire once again. “No. I have already said goodbye to everyone... and I cannot bear to look at your Mother.” He spoke as he shook his cusps slightly glancing down at the soggy dirt.

“She is unhappy, I think she regrets what she did.”

“Not as much as I do.” He spat raising his features wide eyed to his cousin. “And for your information before I left we had the row we all knew was coming.” The supposed bastard’s eyes lost focus momentarily before returning to his supposed half-brother. “I’m not sorry. At least I’m just sorry we didn’t have it years ago.” He finished as his black orbs fell once more to the side with his head vibrating with frustration.

“Brandeth may come round.” Robb suggested, his sorrow for his cousin now starting to pool atop his features. “Do not be so ridiculous. He is a sworn Lord of King Robert Baratheon.” Jon paused, features unreadable. Despite a look so solemn, his lips curled upward a slight as he raised his features astern to the clouds. “Do you really think a loyalist of Robert Baratheon, the man who slaughtered my blood, would in any way approve of me. A person whose blood destroys any claim he had on the throne?”

The sapphires of the Heir fell upon the feet of his cousin in defeat from the heartbreak of what was conveyed. “I could talk to him if you like.” The outed Targaryens’s eyes of darkest Asshai lifted. His brows furrowed in sorrow, his eye flickering up and down. “No, but I love you for asking.”

The two ceased in silence as the world dissolved from them. Their blue and black focused on each other for what they perceived to be eons before Jon broke the connection, pivoting his head to the entourage and back, licking his lips. “I should get going.”

Robb exhaled heavily through his nostrils, lifting his lips up into a facade of a half-smile. “Next time I see you, you will be all in black.” Jon this instance returning the gesture. “It was always my color.” They stared moment longer before embracing. Holding each other close for that moment as the Heir encompassed the Dragon and Wolf’s nape with his palm, trailing it gently down Jon’s shoulder. The supposed bastards grip on his cousin’s shoulders tightened before releasing each other as they simply finalized with a handshake.

“Farewell Snow.”

“And you Stark.”

“Or should I say... farewell Stark... and Targaryen.” Robb supplemented with a wicked smirk. Jon lowered his Dragonglass orbs as his lips curled upwards in a rarity. He returned to the Heir with a 'hush' in response.

Jon turned his back on his cousin before throwing his right leg atop his horse, pulling himself over and atop to saddle the nightly looking beast. The supposed bastard glanced down at his sibling, locking eyes one last time as the horse turned to gallop with the rest of the Nights Watch to Castle Black. As Jon departed, it was as if someone tread on the shards of Robb’s shattered heart with their heel, screeching then across the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for feedback :)


	10. Bran

Bran was aside his siblings as he gazed upon his Lord Father and his Grace King Robert as his Father was taken into the custody of the court. His eyes and thoughts scampered across the sight of the former companions. He knew their friendship was bowed, bent and broken. The King was silent and constantly frowning. His Fathers expression was more than his usual solemn that he carried like many other Stark's. They spoke of nothing. Bran still pondered as to why a rift had formed so vast in so little time. The pup of House Stark had caught sounds from their rouges. Jon’s parentage, as was everything else in Winterfell in days previous as far as Bran could recall. He could not fathom why his cousin was the cause of such controversy. Of how a family name could be of importance to another. Now his Father was to ride with the royal party to the capital to answer for his crimes, and the rest of House Stark was to be kept under lock and key in Winterfell as the King dealt with the matter of their Lord Father. Until then they were to be prisoners in their own home with Lannister's garrisoned in the keep to control.

The Stark boy kept his gems of sapphire on his Lord Father as he mounted his rider with ease of leap. Himself and Eddard then staring in pity as an overweight Robert with an oversized gut of ale failed miserably at imitating the Stark's climb. Eventually succeeding, the sight brought reminisce of his own climbing activities throughout Winterfell. Of how he would ascend the tallest towers in rain, snow or wind. The new thought had him tempted to return to his old habits as a means of escaping the current chaos. As Father was chased by the riders and hounds to follow as the King and him departed. His Mother whimpered and Sansa weeped uncontrollably. Bran himself choked back tears of his Father leaving. He did not want to embarrass himself.

Once departed, Bran glanced upward, the wind were noisy and the blue of Macumber veiled by sullen white, none that he had not experienced before today. As the last of the entourage left, horns howling. 

His thoughts were rippled by attention at the ankle, when Bran glanced below, his curiosity soothed at the sight of still unnamed direwolf, inhaling his boots. “Come on you.” He said as he swirled to make a way and discover a tower to reach for the sky. He ought he caught wind of his Mother protesting his running off yet he paid no ind to it. Bran may have had to coercive into promise of never climbing again by Mother, but climbing was a talent he had practiced years beyond count.

He covert across the leagues of Winterfell letting a playful nature retake his from sullenness, disregarding those he passed, but never in an insulting manner. Only ever looking behind to check his wolf galloped behind him faithfully.

The Stark boy danced to the rear of the castle, a tower had just come to mind. “Keep up.” He called to the wolf. The Summer child of seven name days entered the courtyard, it had depleted of people from the morning. That made it all the easier for Bran to reach the Broken Tower, now in his line of sight on the edge of the Godswood. He eyed it as a crow would the ground. When he reached the base of the tower, stone ascended over him. His feet depressed through the sappy mud. He giggled at the thought of climb but never feared it. Bran had climbed Winterfell with rain sliding in sheets, yet never fell the boy. He grasped the cobble hunks, sticking out as sore thumbs of a knight who wielded too long. He fixed foot by foot on stone his hands held previous. Summer followed to the tower and lay bare below the boy of Stark. It was not long before the pup of the litter was half the tower and gaining. This was the sort of thing he endeared, prelude to becoming an honorable Kingsguard. He climbed further nearing the apex, where the reeds and leaves were weaving in bushes. Struggling here and there with the placement of his feet once or twice.

When he reached the ledge, Bran paused in confusion. He could hear panting, moaning and grunting to his right. Faint firstly. As he slid to his right his curiosity growing as he climbed to the window, the moans growing. The note of a woman’s tune and the grunts of a man of thirty. When Bran’s Tully blue passed the pillar, cracked and worn. He laid eyes on the knight of House Lannister on his knees; a thin tunic of linen was all that adorned him. His fists grasped a woman’s hips on her knees forward. It was not until the Stark boy was essentially sitting in the window that he got a proper view and was dismayed at the sight. The Lannister Queen and her brother in position siblings should never be. His face melted at the sight and the sounds ringed in his ears. Ser Jaime pulled at his sister, raising her to his chest as she blew gold strands from her face and rested her head in the crook of his neck. It was then Cersei as Bran had come to know her name fluttered her eyes open. Her green pierced daggers at him as they widened and she gritted teeth. “Stop. Stop!” The Lannister knight opened his own eyes as he came to his senses. Bran suddenly feeling gravity, attempted to reverse to the ground. The Kingslayer stumbled to his feet revealing he only wore the untied linen as he leaped for Bran who slipped from the perch but then is dragged into the window once more with a whimper as Jaime clutched his jerkin with an iron grip.

“Are you completely mad?” Lannister asked as he positioned Bran on the ledge assuring him everything was alright. “He saw us.” The Queen spat breathlessly as her brother continued with his assurances. “He saw us!”

“I heard you the first time.” Lannister said as he glanced to his golden twin and then returning to the Stark boy, his breaths coming shaky and gripping the older man’s scruff of wrist. The Lannister glanced down curiously at the ground, seeing the boy’s wolf below and they were a great height above. His green returned to the Stark boy’s blue. “Quite the little climber aren’t you? How old are you boy?”

“Seven.” Bran stated with nerve.

“Seven.” Jaime repeated sarcastically. Stark glanced to the Queen of the kingdoms staring with fear, clutching her gown for cover as she waited a response. Ser Jaime then curved rearward, stretching his arm before releasing his grip on the boy’s leather. Bran grasped the frame lightly as Jaime ogled his sister with a devious smirk.

“The things I do for love.” He spat shoving Bran from the tower. His grasp too weak to hold the stone as he fell into the air and to the ground below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback will always be appreciated.


	11. Arya II

She poured the herbs as she sat rigid yet quasi graceful in the most awkward of silences between the trio of family. Herself, Robb and of course her Lady Mother. The only whispers came from the flow of broiling tea. Arya’s discerning of a Ladies customs was laughably diminutive. However she had the basics under lock and key, and times such as these call for practice. However it was the only facet of custom she practiced. Her hair was still shaggy and gown tattered, but Mother was happy to see an improvement of any sort when it came to Arya. “I see you have taken up at least one role which a proper Lady performs.” Lady Stark said, briefly cutting the silence which weighed down on all four of them with a crushing force. “It is a start.” She added. “Do not get used to it.” Arya retorted. “I will not be making a habit of it.”

She filled the third and final cup. She set the pot atop the tray the servants had so graciously brought the drink and its holdings in on previously before resting her palms between her knees, as she were the only one to imitate Catelyn’s fidget and glance indiscriminately around the hall. She sighed heavily before continuing, “So. Who should start--“

“Look do we have to do this now?”

“Yes! I really think”-- The Heir blasted only to be halted by the torrent of the doors as old Ser Rodrik entered hotfoot. Visibly rattled, panting for breath and his skin flushed the color of fresh tomatoes. The members of House Stark jolted their heads all in direction. “Lady Stark!”

“Ser Rodrik what brings you, what is it?” Mother asked. Arya’s eyes danced back and forth between her Lady Mother and Master-at-Arms whose facial crimson never faded and he continued to pant for breath. “My apologies my Lady but you must come quick. It’s your son.” The features of all melt into expressions unreadable to all. The Stark girl grew worried. It could only be sweet Bran. Robb was present. Jon, deported a day previous. She could not decipher what could have gone wrong, _fighting, falling fleeing?_ None knew and none were talking.

“Children, stay here.” She said. Of course neither obliged his imperative. Tension was mounting as Arya and the others desired the knowledge of Bran’s current status of health.

They all scurried the corridors of Winterfell led by Maester Luwin and Jory who were agile to Bran’s aid as others galloped briskly behind him. Mother calling for Luwin about the plight of her sweet son. Arya may have always bickered with him, but as family, she would fight for him and defend him, even to the death. A rivalry of siblings was simply the term of an unwritten contract.

The Starks, Maester and Lannister guard finally reach the room where the second youngest of the house lay, surrounded by those who carried him. The ring of men dispersed. Bran lay motionless, his mouth and eyes lay wide, and his stare was as dead as ash. Catelyn broke down at the moment. Luwin imminently turned and spread his arms around his two children who stood in dismay and terror. “Children, there is no need to see this.” He said as he gently reversed the Stark siblings to the hallway. “We want to stay with Bran!” Robb shouted, fright evident in his tone. “Pray for him. Go to the Godswood and seek mercy from the Gods.”

Brother and sister glared at the doorway now bared entry as they listened to the shouts of men and the wails of Mother. The duet turning to each other, confusion and fear in the elders orbs. His face was as pale as the milk of moon. “Come Arya.” Her brother wrapped his forearm across her nape and placed a hand upon her shoulder. They both traipsed as slow as snail. Arya glancing behind, the shouts never bleaching to the background. The adherent to the Rhoynar warrior Queen stared too long before Robb spoke. “Don’t. Just keep looking forward.” His vocals were shaky and uneven, a symbol of clear the shock to his system. The Stark girl gazed up at her elder, worry deluged within yet failing to show on her face.. He looked down upon her. “Looking back will only be worse.”

“I think I will join you this time. In the Godswood.” She suggested. Robb then returned to a headlong stare of ice and stone. “Well I certainly will not argue with you.” Arya may not have felt as deep connection to any Gods as their Mother, Father or siblings, old nor new. But in times of need and hardship, she would delve for sympathy of both Faith and Forest. She proceeded and joined her brother in the sea of Ironwood encasing the pool of nightly sea, overcast with the Heart Tree bleach white, red hands beyond count and the watchful glare that weep blood shimmer. The pups keeled before the Heart Tree with their fingers entwined with moss and earth. The hummed prayers, Arya finding it with greater difficulty, but she did so with her brother from the moment they arrived until the announcement of dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for feedback. :}


	12. Jon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School has been a pain for writing this chapter but, here it is.

Regret.

It was what consumed Jon Snow most of all as he sat studying Yoren and his sullen companions with a veil on his face that looked unsettlingly like dismay. To Jon, calling the Nights Watchman a vile old man was paying him a complement. The twisted shoulder was something to be overlooked. Mayhaps it were obtained by any rough enough means. It was the sour smell that made Jon gag. His hair and beard glittering with grease from lack of a proper wash. And the lice. _Gods the lice_. He swallowed his own sick after having discerned too much of the man’s appearance.

He glanced about the circle to see the new recruits of the watch. Rapists. He looked back to Yoren, ignoring the other two senior crows, studying the man’s garments, black as his beard. However they were tattered and looked older than weirwood. The stories and tales of the Nights Watch being built of honorable men like his uncle Benjen were gone, and the trio of rapists and a drunken looking man beyond the twilight of his middle years was a rude awakening.

 _Did my Lord Uncle know it was this?_ The thought circled in his head. Did Lord Eddard Stark know that the Nights Watch was not an ancient honorable order for men of bravery but _this_... dumping ground? It was hastily revealing itself as verity. If so, it was yet another deep cut into the flesh of betrayal.

The Targaryen pondered how much longer a ride it was to the Wall. He was not even sure if he would want to arrive at Castle Black any longer. If he found his current riding party so distasteful, he did not want to know if he even wanted to lay eyes on the true state of the main of three castles, the only ones still living out of nineteen strongholds. It was not just the Wall Jon now knew to be desolate before arriving, but how much of the North not far after riding from Winterfell. Winterfell gave way to Wintertown. Wintertown gave way to the flint hills in the west, their stone watch towers touching the clouds. The east of the Kingsroad opened up to a flattening plain stretching the horizon and beyond. Small farms ringing holdfasts walled in wood and stone sprinkled the countryside. The farms then gave way to dense wood and the Kingsroad grew ghostly. The flint hills rising daily until their peaks were coated with snow. When the winds were strong and ice blew, the mountains resembled volcanoes. The forest grew thicker with oak and evergreen and black brier. They were now on the Wolfswood. Howls ruled the night. Ghost even answered the not so distant packs. Now they lay in thick wood with occasional rivers and the cold.    

Oh _the cold_. Jon had never imagined the temperature could drop so far. Yes he had been informed of the bitter chills in the North. However the reality was an entirety of something else and it sinks ever deeper the further they ride North. The nights were growing longer and the temperature descended well below freezing. The skies grew clear and black. When Jon looked up, stars flooded the darkness, draping it over like fishing net. Yet when he returned his nightly orbs to the ground, light only radiated from the fire, causing the trees to spawn haunting shadows. Every time Snow heard a noise or dared to glance the corner of his ebony cusps, he could swear the spawn of a shadow stood aside him, only to vanish when he turned to face it.

His thoughts were halted when his Uncle sat alongside Jon to his left. Benjen motioned a pouch of drink to the supposed bastard and Jon accepted gracefully. He greedily gulped the sweet and bitter tasting Arbor Gold. Its warmth spreading through his throat and stomach. “So how are you keeping?” The ranger asked. Jon pondered on the query. For a moment he considered speaking blunt truth, and then he settled on a pretty white lie. “Alright.” Was all he said after an overlong pause. The wolf crossed with dragon did not look up from the fire yet he could tell his Uncle was dreary from the last of his efforts to build the crude shelters. “It is not quite what you were led to believe it was, is it?” His Uncle continued. Jon wished he would let up. The more his Uncle pressed the matter the more serious thoughts of deserting became. The secret true born stayed silent and let the question go unanswered.

“Your attitude has changed a bit since we left Winterfell.”

 _Of course it has!_ He thought. Jon had given up his family, the chance of a Lordship in favor of a hard life in life threatening cold at a glorified dumping ground. Even so he concluded it best yet again to uphold courtesy and reply with a simple “Yes. I am ok though.”

 “You know, this bunch may not look like much. But they will become my brothers soon; they will become yours and you theirs as well as the rest of Castle Black. You will look out for them like family as they will become your family. The Nights Watch as you know gives up family names---“

“I don’t have a family name.” Snow divulged forcefully. There was then a long drawn out and uncomfortable silence between them after Jon’s statement caught the attention of their camp mates. One in particular to his top left of the flames from his sight could not seem to take his eyes off Jon. He could swear he could even see the corner of his lips curl up. After an eternity of eeriness Jon finally returned to his senses. He took a long drawn out gulp of the Arbor Gold for warmth and a way to forget the days previous and now before announcing to the camp he would stretch his legs before they retire. He pushed himself upright as he handed Benjen the drink pouch. “I will not be long.”

His Uncle sighed, his features never dropping the classical mask of stone and ice that so many Starks wore. “Do not be. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

Jon did not travel far, the campfire was weak and its amber glow faded deeply the further he traveled. The Targaryen settled where the light was half faded not a moment later; he stopped before a swift-running stream with waters clear and cold as ice. He admired the ripples as they flowed passed the last of the Dragons and into the nightly jade where he lost sight of it. It reminisced on his life that had come to pass of everything that he did and opportunities he did not take, and of the events that led to his current situation.   

Snow then caught the bleached sound of a twig cracking not far from him. He swirled around to lay eyes on the second senior man of the Nights Watch to join after Yoren. His name was unknown to him but he was tall and surprisingly handsome for a man who had spent epoch on the Wall to the point where his palms appeared rougher than a blacksmiths.

He wore a striking set of features. A toned face. His hair a mess of curls were not dissimilar from Robb’s as it so happened to remained him after a thought. Yet his hair was longer, waning towards his defined shoulders with a curl to end. The strands shone in the moonlight. The hair itself, a deep soak of oak. His eyes a dark mud brown and his orbs were perfectly sized.

“You’re the Stark bastard aren’t ya’?”He said in a deep husk as he approached the once secret Targaryen. He taster bitter at the sound of that word. He was a true born, secret or not, yet he still carried the false name of Snow, a symbol he was not an equal, not a true citizen of the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes Jon simply pondered to tell the realm his true identity rather than take _bastard_ any longer. Then he would remind himself if the world knew, and would most likely know at this point including the King, he was meat for a hunt to remember if given the time. Jon’s features grew to show the anger now boiling over and it may have registered with the other across the dirt. “What’s your name?” Snow paused for a moment, taking a final glance up and down before looking back towards the stream. “Jon Snow. And you?” he answered, his tone level and plain in a husk from the cold. Jon did not turn to see, yet he could apprehend the crunch of fallen wood from branches above as the man approached. “Mines Jaron.” Jaron slowly took his place alongside the Dragon, folding his arms and leather clad hands with a sigh.

Jaron and Jon stood in what could be described as a _comfortable_ silence and admired what they could see beyond the crystal waters. Yet as the time grew longer, Snow grew more uncomfortable with it, _why is he talking to me?_ He thought. Yet he did not want to give the wrong first impressions. Just when the silence had drawn long enough for Jon to contemplate excusing himself. “So what’s makin’ you decide to take the black?”

Jon figured he still could not just speak truths, there was but one secret to hide. “The Wall is the only place a bastard can redeem himself.” He replied with a sigh. The older man replied with a _hum,_ falling silent once more a moment. “Yes it is,” he added, “But that’s not why you’re join’n is it?”

His heart quickened and his breath caught in his throat at the words, _what could he possibly mean by that?_ Yet he did not want to jump to a mistaken conclusion in a heartbeat. “What do you mean?” Jon asked as he peered his features towards the crow. Jaron’s expression had not changed; he simply stared on into the abyss. “I mean you’re join’n the Nights Watch for bigger reasons other than bein’n a bastard.” His common accent was clear and thick on his tongue. “And what bigger reasons did you have in mind?” He asked again as he turned fully to face Jaron who then glanced from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t know really.” The elder crow replied shrugging with what Jon that thought was the slightest of grins. “Just what I overheard Lord and Lady Stark rouging over.” He finished.

Jon’s heart was in his throat as his gaze remained locked on the crow, his body motionless. “Do not be so ridiculous.” He spat shrugging off and denying the suspicion. For all Jon knew, this was a mummer’s farce to trick all secrets from his lips. The companion remained strangely silent. Yes, the false bastard believed it to be a facade. Yet he was curious none the less to find out what argument it was Jaron were referring to, if there was one. Yet he did not want to appear in any way too curious, he would only be giving the stranger what he wants.

“Fine don’t believe me then.” He said out of the blue as a sigh of amused disappointment before turning to waltz a slow stroll in retreat to the camp. He was obviously waiting for something, waiting for Jon to call him back.

The Dragon gave in. 

“What argument did you overhear?” Jon finally huffed loudly and sarcastically just as Jaron was about to fade into the black. He looked to Jon who did not return the gesture. He smiled wickedly as he crunched his way back to Snow. The crow returned to where he once stood again folding his boiled leather clad arms. After what felt like eons he finally said “It was the night before our travellin’ party left Winterfell. Your Father and his Lady wife were up at the high table and Lord Stark cracked like a whip at her. He said that because of her tellin’ someone a secret, that you weren’t gonna be safe from the King nowhere in the Seven Kingdoms, Westeros nor Essos.”

Jon made a feeble attempt to keep his composure. _Curse my Lord Uncles lose lips._ _He had been able to live with his lies for fourteen years, so why open up now._ “Don’t be ridiculous.” Snow ridiculed with a scoff and sullen features. “I’m not bein’ ridiculous, it’s what I heard.” The other man spoke somewhat with gleeful vocals. “All I wanted to ask was”... Jaron trailed off turning to face and approach Jon, practically leaving no space between them. Jon could feel the other mans heat radiating from beneath his garments, even in the cold of the North and their breaths mingled in the night air. The secret true born felt nauseous from the intensity of it all. “...If what he said were true and nowhere safe, then why go to the Wall.” He finally added his face oddly contemplative. “If what they say is true then not even the Nights Watch is gonna be safe.” Jon forced himself to meet Joran’s stare. He learned back in an attempt to put distance between them, yet again to no avail. Jon could make out every feature of the handsome face before him. The smallest of stubble upon creamy skin reddened by the bite of the cold. He almost wanted to run his fingers across it then he caught himself on. He caught the crow’s eyes once again. As and as dark as ironwood with sprinkles of gold littering the color. They coincided with that of a star filled sky of late dusk. “It would offer as much protection as an open field would durin’ the Long Night.” Jon swallowed loudly and lowered his black orbs slightly releasing the tension. “Somethin’ to sleep on bastard...” Joran said as he finally backed away from Snow with a devilish smirk. The Targaryen’s eyes followed the elder until he stopped on the edge of what could be seen. He turned around to look at the Dragon once more before adding “...Or whatever you are.”

Jon finally breathed a sigh of relief now alone again. He was speechless as to what had just transpired. His eyes flickered in all directions, unable to keep focus. They finally did upon the flowing ice of the stream before him once again reminding him of his life passing by him. If what the man says is true, was he truly safe with the Nights Watch? Judging by the mutilated state of his riding companion’s odds were nil. He did not know what to do; all he could ponder was _what are my options now?_ Could he _drop_ the black after taking it? The group was still days from Castle Black and he held no vow. Yet he was to vow. He had agreed to pledge his life and honor to the Watch. _What are my options now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated.


	13. Catelyn IIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, my internet has been terrible and I've been finding it hard to write.

She had sat aside his sickbed for days and nights beyond count. Cat’s cheeks burned a scorch carved with the canyons of tear. Her cheeks and eyes flushed as her hair. _This is punishment_ she thought. Punishment by the God’s for what she had done to Jon. Perhaps not by the Seven as they scolded bastardy but then again the Snow were a wolf and dragon. Perhaps the Old God’s punished her, perhaps both old and new. All she knew could do was to pray for mercy from the God’s to spare Brandon’s life and also the life of her husband now firmly within the wrath of the King, called to the capital more or less as a prisoner to answer for his treachery. It all flowed back at once. Robert with an explosion that rivaled the Doom of Valyria upon finding a northern capital devoid of Targaryen. Her spouses arrest. The siege of the castle by the Lannisters. Cat herself only spared as she was the one to inform of the Targaryen in hiding at Winterfell, her children too, with the catch of Lannister soldiers being stationed within the keep to keep watch. Lady Stark was ashamed of her actions. Robert may have also had grown pity with the state of her young one. He had allowed Cat to keep her children but also under house arrest. Bran looked so pale, she pondered on moving his bed to the window in order for him to catch the morning rays.

Maester Luwin entered on the eighth night after Ned’s arrest. “My Lady.” He spoke softly as he turned to set the lantern he carried by the door. “It is past time we reviewed the events of days previous. Would you like to know the charges brought against us?” He added with a hint of sarcasm.

“I know the charges.” She replied, not once taking her eyes off Bran.

“My Lady we must discuss our options. The King has charged Lord Stark with treason, Targaryen sympathy and falsehood before the King.” Luwin continued arching his neck to face her as he joined his hands at his waist. “There are ways-“

“I don’t care about the occupation. Have you seen my son?” Lady Stark divulged.

“Yes I have my Lady.” Luwin prodded a finger between his choker and the skin of his neck, pulling to give room to breathe. “There are several strategies that I have listed-“

“How many times must you be told? I do not care! Take whatever it is you have brought away from my sight.” The order of her voice was the crack of whip and left little room for further argument. The Maester looked almost shaken. “You think I care about such things while my son lye’s broken and dying. I don’t care for them one whit. Do you understand that? Do you?”

He bowed his head. “Yes my Lady. Who should I have see to the matters at hand?”

“I’ll see to them.” Said Robb. Cat was surprised to hear his voice she did not hear him enter. He stood in the door frame with a knowing expression. She had been shouting she realized. Her cheeks burned pink with shame. Yet even such a shame could not match the one of her greatest error now moons ago. My head she thought as the pounding returned. She guessed that must be the cause of her short temper.

Maester Luwin turned to the heir. “Very well. As I said to your Mother I have considered the options you can take in our present situation.” Said Luwin as he pulled a slip of parchment to offer to Robb from his sleeve. He took it and the two began to mumble about something beyond Catelyn’s hearing.

 _He has been out in the elements_ Catelyn thought. His hair was shaggy and blown left and right and his cheeks glowed from the cold. He studied the parchment in earnest. “Good. We shall discuss this in a better and more private location.”

“Very well my Lord.”Said Luwin, nodding and retreating from the chamber after retrieving the lantern and an order from her son. Robb then closed the door and rested his head upon the ironwood. It reminisced of Eddard the day he told the family the verity of his lies of fourteen years.

“Mother, what are you doing?” He said.

She glanced up to him; he was much taller than she remembered. “How can you ask such a thing? What do you think I’m doing? I’m taking care of your brother. Of Bran.”

“Is that what you call it? When was the last time you left this room? You didn’t even come down to say farewell to Father when they took him south.” She looked down upon her broken son, pale and frail. Robb’s voice was rough with bitterness. _He’s still angry_.

“We said our farewells here.” She paused looking up again at her son who stared at her with something serious. “You’re still bitter aren’t you?”

“Of course I am still bitter! There was absolutely No justification for what you did, and look where it’s got us now!” He hollered. Catelyn flinched in her own frail state as she leaned forward to clutch Bran’s hand.

“I know, I know.” She repeated in haste.

“Then why did you do it?” Robb asked with what sounded like the first bit of warmth in his voice he had allowed in a long while.

“I don’t know he was so”- she trailed off as she dropped Brandon’s hand to wave her own- “anyway I’m sorry now.” Truly she was after having the amount of time to contemplate it as she had after being shunned. She was sorry for real now.

“Oh you are sorry, well you should be and it’s not as if it is going to make one bit of difference. Is it going to remove the Lannisters from our home?” The heirs vocals had softened yet still were unfeeling, scolding.

“I don’t know but it’s just, with Jon I just say things and then can’t be unsaid.”

Just as she finished the howl of a wolf came from the distance. Robb sighed and turned to open the shutters to gaze outside as the howling continued and Catelyn flinched. “Close them, Bran needs to stay warm.” She said.

“He needs to hear them sing.” He replied. Afterwards more dire wolves joined the chorus. The third and closest came after. “Greywind. Shaggydog.” Robb said dumbly. Their howls conjoined. Catelyn was cringing, her features pinched in dolorous. The cold wind, the grey and desolate keep and the dire wolves. Night after night it was slowly cracking her open. Her hands fell on her ears in an attempt to block the noise.

“Please make them stop!” she shouted. “If you have to kill them do it but shut them up. Please! Please! Please!”

She did not notice that Robb had approached her until his hands were on hers. “Mother please, do not be afraid.” His vocals were soft. The softest he’d been since the day she told Jon’s secret. _He may be angry, yet he still loves me_. “You need to sleep Mother. Master Luwin tells me you’ve barely slept since Bran fell.”

“I can’t. What if he needs me and I am asleep. What if he dies and I am not awake.” The wolves continued to sing. “In the name of the God’s, please close the window!” She squealed as she clutched her ears.

Robb briskly moved to close the shutters. Before he could, other sounds joined the dire wolves. “Dogs.” He said honing in on their barks. “The dogs are barking together. They’ve never done that before...” Lady Stark barely caught his breath hitching in the midst of the white sounds. She gazed up to see skin as white as sheets of ice in candle light. “Fire.” He whispered.

 _Fire_ she thought. Bran. “Help me.” She said immediately standing. “Help me with Bran.” Robb remained silent.  
“The library tower is on fire.” He said. Catelyn could see the growing amber light in the distance playing off the glass. She sighed. At least we are safe, Bran’s safe.

“Thank the God’s.” She murmured. There was no way the fire could reach them.

“Stay here.” He shouted as he charged out the door.

She heard his frantic thuds of footstep echo and dissipate on the stairs. Outside, shouts of fire! came from the yard. The horses were wild, castle dogs barking...

The dire wolves had gone silent. She prayed thanks to all Seven as she crossed the chamber to the window. The flames from the library tower stretched high into the night, easily visible from across the bailey. She then closed the shutters.

When Catelyn turned away from the shutters a man stood before the foot of Bran’s sickbed. “You weren’t s’posed to be here.” He muttered softly and sourly. “No one’s s’posed to be here.”

He was a midget of a man, small and filthy. He wore brown clothing and he reeked of horses. He was not of Winterfell. He was gaunt with limp blond hair, pale eyes and bony features. There was a dagger, dark and smooth in his hand. “No.” She whispered.

He heard her. “It’s a mercy. He’s dead already.”

“No!” Catelyn said as she jolted towards the window to tear down the shutters and scream for help. The man moved faster than she thought as he latched his hand over her mouth pulling tightly back. He raised the dagger to her throat. Cat reached to grab the blade with both hands, pulling it from the surface of her neck. Her fingers oozed crimson yet she refused to soften her grip. He grabbed her jaw tighter yet she managed to pry her mouth from his grip and to the side to feast on the flesh of his fist like a crow. The iron of blood was foul tasting as it filled her mouth. She breathed deeply and screamed. Her tore her hair to the side and threw Lady Stark to the floor and he moved to the foot of Bran’s sickbed. Breathing hard and still clutching the black glimmering steel marked with red.

“You weren’t s’posed to be here.” He repeated stupidly.

Before she registered the growl of an animal, it leaped from behind the man. They fell together almost where Catelyn herself had. He shrieked once with the beast over his neck before it rose and took his throat with it.

His blood was like a rain on her face.

Her Tully blue and the dire wolves gold met. Both their lips were painted red. This was her son’s still nameless wolf she remembered. “Thank you.” Catelyn whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique is always welcome.


	14. Robb III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait but school has started again and the work load is increasing so I don't get a lot of time plus I had writers bloc for a time but also wanted to take my time. Also this is my first battle chapter so please let me know how I did writing it.

It was the third night after the attempt on his brother’s life. His Mother still slept after having been near death herself. Her hands sliced deep by Valyrian steel as Ser Rodrik had put it. The blade too fine a weapon for such a man, the hilt made of dragonbone. The Master at Arms was astute someone provided it to the assassin. Robb had barely left his Fathers solar in days previous as they discussed methods of restoring Winterfell to House Stark.

They plotted to strike while the castle slumbered. Every sword of Winterfell was to be fully armored and armed with the finest blade they could gather under austere secrecy to ensure the naivety of the Lannister men. If all went well, the lions share would be held captive and men would only die if necessary. Guards were to be stationed outside the chambers of his Lady Mother and siblings chambers with said people locked within as the rebellion takes hold and the guards are to kill any man whom dares attempt entry. The heir himself was to lead the Vanguard to fight alongside his men as the storm of swords swallowed the keep.

If I cannot fight alongside my own banner men, why should they fight for me? He thought to himself as he studied the parchments detailing the layout of Winterfell marking where the wolves and lions laird. Robb thought it ironic; he thought he would only ever such plans on the maps of battlefields far from his home if he ever did see them. Now he was seeing them on a map with his own home as the battlefield.

The Lordling decided after another era of countless hours in the Solar of his Father he should rest. However sleeping meant resting on a large chair by the hearth. Draped with his riding cloak and the door locked and bolted. He would not risk the maps being discovered by a stray Lannister. One way or the other, they would take back Winterfell and free their Lord Father, by hook or by crook.

Robb slept a light and dreamless slumber. He woke to thumping on the door. “Robb. Robb are you in there?” He opened his eyes to a dead fire hearth filled with charcoal and apricot colored ash, and a chilly solar say for what was covered under his riding cloak. “Robb?”

“Is that you Arya?” He queried.

“Yes . Maester Luwin says we’re ready to break our fast. Will you be joining?” her voice was not its usual gleeful stock as was to be expected. The heir pondered on her invitation for a moment. _Would it be wise to leave the plans open to others?_

“I think not Arya. I think it would be best if I stay here. But please tell the servants to send me up some bread and cheese with water.” His little sister remained silent and he wondered if she was still there.

“OK. When will you be joining us?” She persisted.

“I’ll join you later. Don’t worry... I will. I promise.”

“OK.” She put simply and plainly before Robb heard her footsteps fading before there was silence. He did not know if he could keep his promise, but the way Arya spoke showed she was a shell of her former self after all that had happened. None of the mischief or the wolf blood.

Afterwards he rubbed the palm of his hand over his face, his uncut stubble scratching like sandpaper over his skin. He did not sleep long yet he was awake, alert and on edge from what they were on the eve of. However when cogitations of his Lady Mother came, anger gave way to burdening concern. What would happen if a Lannister made it to the sickroom? Who would defend her while she slept? Who would defend Bran? He had to wait at the very least until his Mother awoke from slumber. Yet from what Maester Luwin says of her hands, the state of them, the Valyrian steel had nearly bite right through her hands. It was a miracle they were still intact. He had to wait until she was awake. It was his Catelyn after all that had spared his brother from the catspaw.

When she did wake, Robb strode straight to her in her chamber. Before so making sure to carry the map with him and concealed the pieces delineating forces of each side. Luwin had clapped the door loudly when he brought the news. “It is your Mother my Lord. She is awake and requests your presence at once.” He had informed calmly and collectively as habitual. On his approach to her, the halls were as silent as a grave. The occasional servant passing cursory, giving courtesy to their liege Lords son in charge, solemn and disgusted at the situation. Lannister guards were eternally present in the corridors eyeing him abnormally. He was the son of the Warden of the North and now the nominal Lord of Winterfell. He did not know who his banner men would be more disgusted at. House Lannister and Baratheon for occupying the Northern kingdom or House Stark for letting such dishonor to happen. At his Father for harboring a Targaryen after a brutal war to overthrow aforementioned house. Even if the Dragon bow had his own Northern blood.

_How in all the heaven and hell's of both the Old Gods and New are we going to capture or kill enough of these men to warrant the surrender of the rest. There’s so many_ he thought. If they could pull this off, Robb would call the banners, march south and liberate his Father. If they failed, they would be slaughtered alike the Targaryen’s when the Mad King fell.

When he entered her chamber, the Lady of Winterfell was sitting on her bedside upright. Her auburn hair was shaggy from four nights of continual slumber. She held her hands clear of touching anything. Her palms were quavering, wrapped in overlapping bandages. _Gods be merciful with her pain_. Catelyn looked over at her eldest son and she opened her arms to embrace him, all the while keeping her hands apart from anything else.

When they parted, his Mothers features were solemn. “The plans?” She asked plainly after glancing back at the door to ensure nil espionage. Robb glanced back as well unwilling to share until he was certain they were alone.

“All have the go ahead. I wanted to wait for you before we begin.” His Lady Mother thanked him gratefully for his consideration. “Now that you are awake, we will strike while the Lannister’s feast, indulging on strong wine and ale.” He added with a smirk.

“Well thought.” She replied. Both Mother and son then heeded mounting footsteps abaft in the corridor. Both Robb and Catelyn turned to face who it was as Ser Rodrik Cassel entered followed with Theon and lastly Hallis Mollen, the new captain of the guard that Luwin had acclaimed. “Who was the catspaw?” She queried.

“His name is unknown m’Lady.” Hallis replied. “He was not of Winterfell however some say they had seen him about the past few weeks.” He added.

“I’d stake my life he was of Lannister, or Baratheon.” She sighed. “I honestly cannot tell given our current asperity.” The words made Robb taste bitter in his mouth. His Mother talks of the occupation as if she were innocent, why she was solely to blame for the crisis. When she looked up at him, the Heir held his temper and sought to change the subject before he went too far.

“This is a discussion for another time. Let’s just focus on taking back our home first and then we can talk about the assassin.” He paused. “Theon, close the door and bar it.” Robb the Lord as some now called him spoke. He did not think it was meant as an insult, most likely just a reference to his changing demeanor. Once he heard the bar slipping into place he proceeded. “Ser Rodrik, do you have the dagger?” He queried looking over his shoulder at the Master at Arms. He unsheathed the Valyrian steel from his belt, conveying it to his new liege Lord. Robb gripped the hilt of dragonbone firmly, holding it while glaring at the steel meant to take his brother’s life. He turned back to Lady Stark and held to blade out to her. “The dagger. I want you to take it and remain in Bran’s sickroom while we take the castle in the event of anyone getting passed the guards. Arya and Sansa will have blades too.”

Catleyn just glared at her son in bewilderment. “You can’t seriously expect me to take the blade that was intended to end my son’s life while he sleeps!” She said in a hoarse voice.

“I do. This blade is now the finest in Winterfell, possibly in the North apart from Ice, and I want you to be able to protect both yourself and Bran if anyone is able to break in here.” Robb stated with conviction.

“What about Arya and Sansa, you can’t seriously expect either of them to yield a blade, especially Sansa, she is far too pure for such things.” His Mother was worried, he could tell. Yet something in her features said she was agreeing with the arrangements anyway.

“Arya already had a sword. Jon had it made for her as a parting gift.” His Mother was now a brew of bitterness and shame at the mention of his cousin, “She knows the basics and I’ve already shown Sansa what to do should a Lannister make it past the guards.” He added.

Catelyn looked uncertain in her eyes, yet behind them there was something else. _Pride_... he suspected. She was proud of her son for becoming the Lord he was always meant to be even under such testing circumstances. She slowly reached up and lightly gripped the hilt of the blade that had cut through her flesh, unable to grip it any tighter due to the state of her palms. She examined the black blade curiously, bringing it closer to her eyes. The silence was drawn out in the chamber before Catelyn looked up at her son now stern and serious.

“Then may the Gods be on our side tonight.”

The night attained far too quickly for Robb’s liking. Yet as the time drew nearer he seemed to notice that time itself slowed, dragging itself slower and slower until Robb felt it had stopped altogether. His nerves were wreaking havoc on his insides yet he kept a calm composure on the outside. The heir stuck to his plans and the plans were running well so far.

Robb ensured that all Stark guards and banner men within Winterfell was armed with as much as they could safely find, they were positioned slowly over the course of the day in order to elude suspicion, and come eve fall Robb ensured that each Lannister soldier and the commander had their full fill of strong ale and wine as they supped. He personally made sure that these drinks would dull their senses, laced with a clear vile from Luwin for better effect and make a victory much more viable. Robb checked that his sisters and Mother with Bran were in their chambers with guards of the strongest allegiance stationed at their doors, that his siblings were awake and armed with the sharpest daggers. Robb himself wore steel at his waist, adorned with boiled leather and ring mail covered with cloth for deception.

The hour was almost upon them and Robb was growing more unnerved by the moment, yet he kept a mask of stone and ice. He had reviewed everything in his thoughts twice over and did not apprehend if there was anything else that needed to be prepared. He envisaged any future battle preparations like this, his paranoia running rampant when there was nil need of it. _I have to show I am a Stark of Winterfell and no longer some green boy who plays at false games of war._

When the moment finally came, he was seated atop the Great Hall, feasting as the name only Lord of Winterfell as Lannister’s dinned below mockingly. Robb nodded a swordsman dressed as a serving boy as he laid freshly steaming dishes on the table before him. The boy scampered off to the great ironwood doors and with a handful of men pulled them closed to bar them from the outside. If the fight was won, three loud knocks would signal so and the servants would let them run free. Everyone was ready, sitting in preoccupation. A simple shout of now and the uprising would begin.

Robb the Lord rose from his high chair. He held the pommel of his sword tightly in his left hand and raised his right to silence the men before him and draw their attention. He kept repeating in his thoughts _Gods be with us, Gods be with us_.

“Servants of Winterfell... Now!”

It happened fast and Robb grew disorientated. His instincts threw him at the commander to his left. He released the sword and gripped the hilt of his dagger, ordering the commander to surrender as he raised it to his right cheek. When the man refused, the heir did not kill him but pulled the man’s sword and threw it a distance away from themselves and other Lannister men. After, he knifed the man deep, seriously injuring but not killing, seriously enough to prevent him from fighting. The commander fell back in his chair. Blood dripped from the dagger as he raised it, slicking the man’s thin fuzz of grey hair. The red slid down to the hilt of the dagger. Oozing through his fist and Robb sheathed the blade for later use, the sheath could be cleaned.

The Gods could not be offended; House Lannister had invoked no guest right. They had come and took their home, now the Stark’s were taking it back. They had to have favor with the God’s regardless of whether they were slaying men at a meal... they had to.

He joins the rest of his fighting force below the high table, drawing his steel on the way and meeting a Lannister man in the heat of it. The man is strong, big boned and an alpine to Robb. Wolves and Lions steel rang through the hall. The Stark boy could see the carvings ripple with amber light as he deflected a blow at his neck. If it were not for ale dulling his judgment, this brute of a man would very deposit Robb in the Earth. Thankfully his moves were sloppy and miscalculated and Robb sliced between his armor opening his belly. Then he watches as the soldier fell to his knees. His insides falling outside.

He scoured the scene, laying eyes on a second soldier with thick golden locks not unlike the Lannister’s yet Robb could tell he was not of the house. “Boy.” He screeched hoarsely. Despite being a foot away, Robb gagged at the thick aroma of ale and boy odder mixed into one. As the man lifted his blade, it passed the immaculate carvings of Lion on his breastplate, and his steel was drowning in another man’s scarlet. When he lunged the Stark heir deflected. Yet this was a man who seemed more immune to intoxication. He was tough and stubborn and everything blurred with searing pain when the man sliced Robb’s ear off, landing the sword on his shoulder. He had never endured such pain in his life. He stumbled back screeching, almost dropping his sword. The hot river that followed oozed down the side of his features, seeping under his collar and sticking the leather to his skin. Regaining his balance, the liege Lord of Winterfell knocked a blow aside aimed at his neck. The ring of swords was deafening. Finally managing to strike a fatal blow, he buried his sword in the man’s neck, exiting through the other side ruining his beautifully engraved breastplate and spurting blood over Robb’s features as the man coughed up crimson with a sickening squelch.

He pulled his sword free, now coated and oozing blood. Robb freed one hand from the pommel to the hole where his ear was once held. His hand slipping up and down from the amount of blood sticking to his skin and stubble. Attention from Luwin was needed urgently yet Robb and his men had more pressing matters. When he looked about the hall he had room to breathe for a moment as his men continued to fight drunken Lannister men. They were slaying left, right and center at a quickening pace, the archetypal plan of not taking many lives long forgotten. “May the Gods forgive us.” Robb whispered. The Lannister men were dropping like flies, too drunk to fight. The heirs own men had suffered losses also but it was clear which side was winning.

Before the fighting finished, the heir had to slice two more men. Injuring but not fatally harming, yet serious enough to rob the garrison of soldiers.

When the fighting ended, many lay dead, both Lannister and Stark bled. The Stark's were victorious. As he strode to the doors he gave his commands. “Put the rest of them in chains.” He stopped at the great ironwood monoliths and turned to face his men. “Come with me and take back our castle!” The room erupted in cheers for their new liege Lord of Winterfell who was finally starting to prove himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think.


	15. Catelyn V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concluding chapter of Catelyn's Point Of View.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I found hard to write and for a time I had writers block halfway through. But here's the end result... enjoy :}

She paced Bran’s sickroom endlessly with worry as her only companion. The guards were outside and her son still slumbered. As she trifled with the dragonbone hilt, her thoughts returned to _who would want Bran killed?_ The mother wolf was astute he did not fall. Bran had learned to climb before he could walk. He had climbed in wind and rain and snow, yet never slipped. _If Bran fell from a perch, it was not because he had fallen, but because he had been thrown_ she concluded. If he was thrown, who threw him? She was certain the Lannister’s were involved, mayhaps even the crown, yet Catelyn could not see why?

She lost her train of thought as she deviated to the window. The screech of battle was getting louder and Lady Stark prayed to all God’s in her head, even the Stranger for it to end. She could see men slay each other in the bailey, others lying motionless as red pooled beneath then, staining mud and straw. She closed the shutters to rid the sickroom of the clamor. Kneeling at Bran’s bedside, setting the dagger to her side Catelyn looked at her son’s features. His skin was sunken in on his face from lack of nourishment and the candle light gave it a shiny, false appearance, like it did not belong. She rested her palm on his forehead whining slightly from her wounds. It may have been moons since the assassin’s attempt, yet Catelyn hands still throbbed with sheer fire where the blade had bitten. She could not bend the last two fingers of her left hand, and the others would again be dexterous. She then bent what fingers she could over each other as she clasped her hands, lest she forget the pain.

Catelyn prayed to all Seven once more, the prayers helping to subside the pain slightly as her thoughts focused elsewhere. The racket of war outside the walls blurred in the background, her ears blocking out to focus on the reply of the Gods. She prayed to the Father grant Robb the judgement in this uprising and for the Lannister men to be wise enough to surrender quickly. She prayed to the Mother that mercy befall the poor souls in this battle... friend or foe. She prayed to the Maiden that she uphold her eldest innocence a little longer. She prayed to the Crone to give him the wisdom to win this war. She prayed Warrior that he grants Robb the strength and courage to lead House Stark to victory—

The ring of polished steel ripped her from her prayer cycle as she silently cursed the man who did it. Lady Stark eyed the door and its bar, wondering should she check on her guards. The cries of pain as sword cut flesh seeped through the cracks of the wood and Catelyn gripped the assassin’s dagger with the strength she could summon from her left hand, refusing to respond to the pain. She staggered to the foot of her son’s sickbed holding the dagger out in the air as she waited in anticipation for who was before the door. _There has to be Lannister’s out there_ she thought.

“Hugar?” She paused panting softly. “Bryen. Is all well out there?” Cat waited but got no answer. Silence befell the sickroom and Bran’s direwolf lifted his nose in scent only to growl a moment later. Lady Stark then smelled blood. “Not again.” She murmured realizing who was alfresco. Not a moment later her remark was followed by strikes on the door in an attempt to take it down. Catelyn flinched, almost dropping the dagger. She reached behind to grip the foot board for balance. She gripped the hilt tighter as her fist began to cry in pain. She whined but ignored it; she could not afford to drop the steel if a second catspaw took the door down.

A sword splitting the ironwood stopped her heart, nearly dropping the steel a secondary time. She then gripped the hilt tightly with both hands. The wounds of Catelyn’s palms ached from reminiscence of the night of the assassin; they screamed they would tear if she did not release her grip. The ironwood may have been thick with iron bars yet like any other objects it had its shortcomings. The man on the outer side then pulled his steel from the newly created whole, only to sheath it between the wood again. Catelyn pondered hiding by the side of the door, only to strike him when he entered, however that would leave her son open for slaughter. He struggled to move it beneath the bar, the blade barely moving, yet after a few push and pulls the sword jolted from its trappings. Catelyn’s heart was racing as the sword moved upwards in an attempt to lift the bar from its holder.

Almost forthwith the Lady of House Stark runs to the door, almost going through the door, yelping in pain as she pressed the bar back into its holding. Brandon’s wolf growled and barked, snarling his teeth while sitting upright. The assassin’s dagger slips from Cat’s grasp to clatter on the floor as she wailed like a broken wolf from the fire in her palms as her wounds re-opened, her bandages growing damp and warm. The wolf continually growled and Catelyn turned to look at him in his eyes of gold as the man continued to hack at the door from the other side. “Protect him. Keep my son safe.” She commanded and the direwolf actually seemed to heed her order, slightly bowing its head and never taking his eyes off of her own Tully blue.

She swung back as metal and ironwood disintegrated behind her and a man clad in scarlet metal, engraved with the lion of Lannister entered the sickroom. The man was handsome, yet his features glistened with sweat from fighting and were speckled with dirt from the ground of outside, not unlike his chocolate brown locks. “You!” Cat shouted jolting the blade towards him, the direwolf behind her barking, barring its teeth. She did not know why she bawled at him, calling at him as if she knew him, it was rather silly really. The man grinned and pulled his sword from the ruins of the door. The sword was beautifully engraved and painted with the blood of its victims who lay in the corridor, possibly more beyond. The man pointed his steel at Lady Stark with a deathly glimmer to his teeth and the scarlet coating the blade. She shook, bracing herself on the bedpost, slowly moving rearward. The hilt of the dagger was growing slippery and her worry of dropping it amplified.

She was displaced to the side of her son’s sickbed as the man jumped at her as a fright, jolting the she wolf rearwards in terror. Both herself and Bran protected by his direwolf who would not cease barking. The soldier sneered at all three of them, “Using your own sleeping son to protect you.” He japed in a surprisingly light tone of voice. It angered Cat yet her resolve never waned. She sneaked a momentary glace at her son before focusing on the Lannister man. Bran was still as he was before, skin shiny sunken in on his bones. He was motionless as his chest lightly rose and fell. The direwolf barked at the remark and insult to honor again and again. Both wolf and lion stood in duel against one another, not speaking but staring with steel between them. Both Tully blue was locked with the chocolate orbs.

The soldier lifted his steel slowly higher, he chuckled lacking seriousness like a true soldier, yet she could tell he was a man to be reckoned with. He breathed heavy from his mouth and it reeked something foul, heavy alcohol and something thicker laced the exhalation, making Catelyn gag. The blades slowly but surely closed the distance between them, the metal ringing with magnetism on each other and the steel gritted against one another. Cats nerves too taught to allow a plea for help.

Catelyn whined aloud at the fire in her palms as she struggled.

Brandon’s direwolf pounced the man yet he deflected the wolf through a jolt of the wrist in the animal’s direction. The teeth missed the throat only to sink into the flesh of the man’s hand. The wrong hand, not the one to hold the sword. Yet the soldier screeched as the wolf growled into his hand and blood laced out from between the animal’s teeth. Lady Stark pulled the assassins dagger from the man’s sword in an attempt to swing at it, only for it to slip from her grasp and clatter in the far end of the sickroom after a flight smooth like bird, her hands too broken for use, too weak to grab the hilt. The dagger was too far for her to attempt retrieval without leaving Bran yet again open for slaughter. The Lannister soldier pulled his hand free with the flesh of the top of his hand tearing with the teeth exposing muscle. He punched the direwolf and it yelped as it fell flat on the floor. Before the wolf could recover the Lannister man buried his steel in the gut of the beast. “No!” She yelled, almost falling over Bran in a futile attempt to reach her sons pet. The direwolf cried and whimpered as blood splattered. The poor thing gave one last whimper before passing, its head falling to the floor with a thud and Catelyn prayed to the God’s that the wolf was in a better place.

“Help, somebody please!” She shouted at the top of her voice for the first time since the man broke entry to the chamber. She couldn’t recall why she neglected to do so earlier. A stupid decision as now her son’s beloved pet was dead. The man shot his damp features up as his locks swirled everywhere with a grunt emanating from his lips. She gasped and lifted herself from the inch she hovered over her son’s broken body. He yanked the sword from the wolfs carcass in a sickening, slurping sound with streaks of hot scarlet staining the fur.

He swung the sword towards the both of them, Mother and son. He took a swing with his sword and she saw no other leeway. Catelyn shot her right hand through sheer instinct. She grabbed the bade, stopping it in its flight with a slicing squelch of wounded flesh and blood. The Lady screamed out in a deep throated holler as the flames of pain licked up her arm, seeping under her skin far from the wound. She wailed, now holding the steel with both hands. “Help!” She continued to scream. Blood was seeping from between the divide between her fingers and thumbs, oozing like the sap does the eyes of a Heart Tree, dripping to the floor in long thick lines.

They held that position for what must have been eons. Catelyn had a deep desire to holler once more for hope a passerby might hear, yet the pain was too intense, her thoughts solely focusing on the blinding fire and the task at hand, there was no room for anything else, her mind too drunk on the pain. She grunted as the sword wobbled as the brown haired warrior pushed his steel harder into her grip. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow. It was just then she realized how much this man resembled Jon, save for the lighter toned hair and eyes. The thought made her grip slip and the sword plunged into her belly with a sickening squelch. The push of the blade sliced through what still held the palm of her right hand together, the upper palm and fingers falling freely to the floor.

Gasping and whining yet no screaming as what remains of her hands fell where her abdomen and the sword conjoined. He pushed the blade deeper, a crunching sound emanating from the wound, blood spat at the inflicter with his features adorning a wide and sadistic grin.

“Lady Stark!” A man called out from a distance in the corridor followed by thundering footsteps growing louder and louder. “Lady Stark are you”-

“Lady Stark!” the tallest of the pair screeched at the sight of his Lady impaled on a Lannister sword. Both Catleyn and her slayer glanced into the door frame at the men standing on the ruined ironwood. She did not recognize them, her vision was blurring slightly as her eyes welled with tears from the pain. Faint almost inaudible gasps escaping her open and slack jaw.

The Lannister man pulled his sword free coated with the blood of the Tully. He grunted in frustration as a vile slurp came from the emancipation of the blade and a steak of blood coated his fist. The Stark men pulled their swords back ready to avenge the assault on their Lady and defend her cripple son who lay exposed yet so peaceful and unaware of his surroundings. Catelyn stumbled backwards and landed with a thud that left her behind with an ache. She could feel the scarlet flowing freely from the wound and down her belly, her gown clutching her skin in a warm and sticky mess. Instinctively clutching the opening and the pain stabbed her as if it were the sword all over again. Flinching and whining, she looked up at the sword play in front of the sickbed, the swords crashing and ringing the room, Cat was low enough and the bedposts covered everything below their torsos.

“Ale makes me fight better.” Said a soft voice she recognized as the Lannister soldier. It must have been preceded by a remark from a Stark man that escaped the shells of her ears.

It was all happening so fast yet everything seemed to be slowing as her head grew light and dizzy. The she wolf then looked up at her slumbering cub and reached her remaining hand dripping from the cut and from its own slice, the hand itself very nearly cut cleanly in two, close to resembling its counterpart. She joined hands with Bran. She may not survive but she was with her son and that was what mattered, if the God’s were calling her she desired nothing more that to be with her children when it happened, or one at the very least.

As steel impaled flesh and a sword clattered to the ground, men now heaved deeply as more than one collapsed. Locking her Tully blue on her sons slumbering features before the darkness could claim her Catelyn whispered “I am with you Brandon, now and always,” finally resting her eyes. 


End file.
